I knew it was him because there were features even those who have yet to meet him would recognise – the pointy ears and a snarl that, just perhaps, might send a shiver through heaven.

The devil, though, was a lot smaller than I'd imagined and there was an element of cute I had not expected.

I'm on an isolated part of Tasmania's rugged northwest coast in a simple fishing hut owned by Geoff King. It is here, on the edge of Mr King's 324ha of natural bush, that our wild encounter takes place.

Darkness comes with a hurry in these parts and we are ushered into the hut. A gas lamp hisses and glows. An old table is set with biscuit and dips and raw vegetables. By the hut's only window a road-killed wallaby is staked to the ground.

We barely have time to dip into the snacks when all of us are brought to silence.

Night visit

"Shhh, we have devil,'' says Mr King with a storyteller's tone. The wallaby is a favourite food of the Tasmanian devil, yet the speed of this fellow's appearance has surprised even Mr King.

We all head for the window. The area immediately outside is illuminated by a battery-powered light. A curiously employed baby monitor is hidden in a clump of native grasses. Another is above the hut's fireplace. Through them we can hear the wind and cries of birds.

This is one of only two places in the world where you can watch wild Tasmanian devils feeding under controlled conditions: of course, there is nowhere else in the world beyond Australia's thinly populated island state where devils are wild.

The nocturnal devil is a carnivorous marsupial and roughly the size of a small dog.

A devil creeps from the grasses. Devils only live about five years in the wild and this 10-12kg specimen has reached old age. Mr King knows him.

"I've had fears for him over the last six months,'' he says.

Not that age has dimmed his appetite. The devil gorges and his belly slowly swells (a devil will eat up to half its body weight).

Mr King's family has been running cattle around Marrawah since the 1880s and while Mr King still farms, he removed the stock from this run in 1999 after an awakening into the damage the cattle were causing to the land.

"People I knew started to point out some of the problems I was adding to by running the cattle. Then it opened up a whole world of interests I'd never seen before,'' Mr King says.

Wildlife biologist Nick Mooney suggested the "devil restaurant'' to Mr King. "I had known Geoff for years and long recognised his curiosity and charisma with people, and wonderful property,'' Mr Mooney says.

"When he talked of wanting to do something less harmful with his coast run I suggested the 'devil restaurant' as a basis to a wildlife tourism venture.''

Not alone

Devils are not the only carnivores abundant in these parts. Mr King suspects a spotted-tail quoll is living under the shack.

"Quolls won't come out while there are devils, generally,'' he says.

But its food-chain superiority does not ensure the devils' survival.

Facial tumours are decimating some of Tasmania's devil population. The cancer has knocked out 80 per cent of devils in affected areas, which run to about two-thirds of the state.

There is wholly unpleasant talk about the devil going the same way as the Tasmanian tiger.

"We dont have it here (in the northwest),'' Mr King says of the tumour. "I don't really want to.''

Mr King is thoughtful and silent for a moment. We can hear the devil chomping at flesh and bone through the monitor. Good might yet come of the bad.

"I've been really heartened by the way people think about the animal (the devil) now,'' Mr King says.

Nobody is hurrying to see the devils yet. But there are real fears the devil might be moving towards its last supper.

"Here's another one at 12 o'clock,'' Mr King says. The cautious devil comes forward. "Look at this, a beautiful white stripe.''

A visitor from Britain says: "Oh, it's beautiful.''

To Mr King's surprise, the bloated warrior slinks away.

After barely a pick, our new arrival stops eating and stands as still as the carcass she presides over.

She's listening. Devils everywhere maybe, Mr King says, and all of us share his delight.

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